Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“I’ll go with that then.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Just a water, please,” Atlas told her and reached for his wallet, only for Cristian to stop his hand.

“My treat,” Cristian said, stepping in his way to pay the lady. Atlas let him have his way, mostly because he was too busy ogling Cristian’s suit from behind to put up a fight.

They stepped off to the side to wait for their order, even though there was no one else around. Cristian stood a little closer than necessary to Atlas, but he didn’t mind. It gave him the opportunity to admire his smile when he tilted his head up to look at the Christmas lights over their heads.

“I don’t normally regret it,” Cristian said.

Atlas blinked. “Regret what?”

“In the car, you asked if I regretted how much time I had.” He shrugged. “Honestly, it depends on the day. Some are good, some are bad.”

“And today is?” Atlas asked.

Cristian’s smile was brilliant and blinding. “We’re alive, Atlas. Today is a good day.”

They gat

hered their order when it was called, along with extra napkins, and returned to the car. The property Cristian was going over with the realtor wasn’t far, so Atlas drove them the rest of the way while Cristian unpacked the food. There wasn’t another car parked near the line of warehouses, which meant there was no reason to not dig in and eat while everything was still hot. Cristian handed Atlas’s waffle sandwich over, the foil already peeled down and out of the way for him.

He moaned at the first bite. The waffles making up the outer layer of the sandwich were speckled with herbs and toasted cheese, which melded perfectly with the thickly spread sage and onion dressing inside. He ate carefully, trying not to spill chunks of roasted pork and a sprinkling of crispy cracklings with each bite, but was still halfway done with his sandwich by the time he looked up and found Cristian still hadn’t started to eat.

“Where’s yours?” he mumbled through a mouthful of pork.

Cristian laughed and shrugged out of his jacket to get more comfortable. Atlas couldn’t blame him. The tailored suit highlighted the strong line of his shoulders and the taper of his waist, but the jacket was far from forgiving to sit in. The buttons of his dress shirt strained when he turned to toss the jacket in the backseat, mesmerizing Atlas. It was like Cristian had cataloged every time Atlas had surreptitiously watched him during a shift and chose clothes he knew would draw his eye.

He wasn’t done yet either. A quick twist of his fingers to undo the cuff buttons, and he rolled up his sleeves. First the back and ass, now the forearms. Atlas was screwed.

Cristian undid the foil around his sandwich and grabbed several napkins, arranging them on top of the brown bag in his lap in preparation for a messy meal. He closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation at his first bite. Even in the shadowed dark from the industrial buildings before them, Atlas could see Cristian swallow and run his tongue over his lips, catching the dripping maple butter escaping his sandwich. He gave Atlas a sideways look and asked, “See something you like?”

“Yes,” Atlas said simply. A flush rose to Cristian’s cheeks and darkened when Atlas’s gaze lingered. His confession to Cristian might ruin everything, so he would appreciate the view while he could. After a bittersweet minute, he set the moment aside and returned to his dinner, polishing it off quickly and clearing his trash.

Cristian took longer to finish his, mostly because he kept juggling between sandwich and sips of coffee, but it didn’t matter. The realtor still hadn’t shown and they were in no rush. Atlas leaned back in his seat and watched the lights on the water.

“It’s nice over here,” he commented. “Not as creepy as Nell’s side of the river.”

Cristian made a sound of agreement and swallowed his last bite. He started wiping his hands clean, working a finger at a time in quick, precise movements that made his forearms flex. “Lots of potential. Tonight we’re supposed to discuss where to start the renovations. There are a few businesses who still have leases in play, so Father’s working around that.”

Cristian’s confidence was intriguing. He’d never hidden his lack of interest in Decebal’s work, but he was clearly knowledgeable about the situation. Atlas gestured out the windshield at the empty buildings in front of them. “What does he want to do here?”

“I’ll show you,” Cristian said, undoing his seatbelt. He chuckled at Atlas’s hesitation and undid his belt as well. “We won’t go far.”

This wasn’t the conversation he was supposed to be having. This was an easy excuse to avoid what he needed to say, but it had been a pleasant evening and the walk would give him time to gather his thoughts. “Sure,” he finally agreed, and left the car.

The air outside had a slight chill from the breeze off the water, but the night was comfortable otherwise. The faint noise of street traffic from the busy downtown carried to them, settling in as a background hum while they walked over worn sidewalks toward the weathered buildings. The decay on this side of the river wasn’t as pronounced. The piles of trash were smaller, giving Atlas better views of the shadowed side yards they passed. Some of the buildings were falling apart, skeletons of their former glory, but others still had signs up, staking claim to their place and existence. He couldn’t help but notice the additional signs though, ones stating where the businesses were relocating, or that they were going out of business and were liquidating everything.

Cristian kept his hands in his pockets as he walked, loose limbed and relaxed. He spoke as they went, holding Atlas’s attention with the steady rise and fall of his voice. “Father’s been working on landing this section of properties since the hospital renovations. The river used to serve as the heart of the timber trade. Now that it’s gone, he wants to find a way to rebrand it and use it to Scarsdale’s advantage.” He spun in a slow circle, hands upraised. “Medical research and conference spaces.”

“Better funding in the big cities,” Atlas said.

Cristian dropped his hands and shot him a pitying look. “You aren’t thinking ahead,” he scolded. “With the downtown coming back to life, this is the perfect town for young singles needing to jump-start their careers. And the experienced researchers are looking for something quieter, slower, and easier for their families to come into.”

He thought of the suburbs crawling toward his neighborhood and began to understand just how far Decebal’s plans extended. No wonder the Wharrams wanted him out of their way—he drew up in the middle of the sidewalk, guilt transforming his dinner into a leaden weight in his stomach. No matter how he tried to escape it, he had to tell Cristian the truth. The timing was poor. The past four years of carrying his own trauma made it easier for Atlas to see the hole Andrei’s betrayal ripped the fabric of the family. With such long lives, they were acquainted with loss and were carrying on like normal.

He couldn’t decide if the promise of centuries to come would make the betrayal easier to forget, or if it would only make it linger and putrefy. Would his betrayal haunt Cristian as much as that of his great-uncle? Or would he be easily forgotten, ignored and lost to history as Cristian outlived him? He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer to either question.